What If
by ayjaydee
Summary: Rick's made it this far, but now that he's here, he can't go through with it. It would mean facing the memories and the guilt. It's too much, too soon.


_So, this story came totally out of left field. I was cleaning my room and then BAM. I had an image of Rick standing in front of a door. Then I thought, "What's behind the door?" And then it became words on a page. Now suddenly, I have the longest oneshot I've ever written, in possibly the shortest amount of time. I hope you enjoy it._

* * *

What If

Rick stares at the door.

He's made it this far, but now that he's here, he can't go through with it. It would mean facing the memories and the guilt. It's too much, too soon.

"You can't just stand there forever, young Rick," says a Scottish-accented voice behind him. Billy's there, leaning against the wall.

Rick's head gives a painful throb. "I know," he whispers softly. "I can't…this is my fault."

Billy gives him a reproachful look. "Easy there, lad. That's likely the concussion talking for you. You can't put this mess on yourself."

Rick shakes his head, the pressure inside his skull increasing. "No," he states, his voice rising, "I should have been faster. I could have prevented this."

Billy sighs. "You're playing the "what if" game, Martinez, and that's a slippery slope indeed. This wasn't your fault."

Rick takes several off balance, trembling steps away from the door, and now the pressure is almost unbearable.

"No…no, I…I can't do this."

The world is swaying and Billy's face is going in and out of focus. Suddenly Rick just needs air. He has to get out, to get away from here. He's stumbling back the way he came, down the hallway, through the door…

He can hear Billy's voice call out behind him.

"You can't run from this, Rick."

* * *

Michael's there. Casey, too.

The team leader takes one look at Rick's face and concern is etched into his tone in an instant.

"What's wrong? Is it..?"

"No," Rick cuts him off, "I just couldn't…not after…it's all my fault!" The words come tumbling out and he can't stop them. Nothing makes much sense at the moment and Rick still feels like there's not enough air.

"Calm down, Martinez," Casey interjects, looking at him steadily. "These things happen and it's hardly your fault. In fact, if it weren't for your martyr streak, one or more of us could be dead right now."

Michael reaches out a comforting hand but quickly retracts it when Rick flinches back and snarls "Don't touch me!"

Michael's eyes go wide in surprise then narrow in suspicion. There's a hint of command in his tone when he says, "I think you need to take it easy, Rick, and get some more rest."

But Rick shakes his head again, regretting the action instantly from the pain it causes. "No more sleep. I just need some fresh air." This time he's practically running towards the door that will take him outside. Somewhere he can breathe again.

He doesn't see Michael tell Casey with a jerk of his head to follow Rick discreetly. The team leader's lips are pressed together in a grim line as his eyes track the young operative out the door.

Outside the building, across the street, Rick finds himself in a small park. He wanders aimlessly down the rough sidewalk, oblivious to his surroundings.

Disconnected thoughts are tumbling around in his mind. Random flashes of memory are clouding his vision: a blown cover, Billy laughing at the café, Michael's reassurances, the back room, Casey's sarcasm, a gunshot…

Pain explodes through his temple and the world tilts dangerously on its axis as Rick crumples. Strong arms break his fall before his head hits the ground and he can't tell which way is up. Everything is fuzzy around the edges.

Michael's face, somewhat distorted, is suddenly above his and Rick can hear him talking.

"Come on, Martinez, stay with me. It's going to be okay. Just stay with me."

Michael's voice is fading and, distantly, Rick senses others there too, moving and talking. But there's only one face and voice that he can focus on.

Billy's looking at him, and there's a sadness in his expressive eyes.

"I told you. It's time to stop running."

Then the world tilts into darkness.

* * *

The first thing he notices upon waking is that the pain is back down to bearable levels and he feels a lot more clear-headed than before. The second is that Michael is sitting next to him with a relieved look on his haggard features. Casey is to his right and there's Billy, leaning against the wall directly across from him.

"How long?" It's all Rick can think to ask.

Michael leans forward. "About another day and a half. You really stressed yourself out."

Rick's eyes widen in alarm. "What about…"

"It's okay," Michael interjects, before the younger man can get worked up again. "You missed the good news while you were out. The ventilator's been taken away and they're very optimistic."

"Or whatever passes for optimism in this place," mutters Casey, ignoring the glare Michael levels at him.

Billy's grinning at him from the far wall. "I do recall telling you, in highly graphical fashion at a most dire moment, that things could always be worse."

It's one of the few things that Rick remembers from his time in the van in Bolivia. It's something he's reminded himself of almost every day since.

"You can still go in there, you know," Michael says. "We'll go with you, if you'd like."

Rick thinks he might be able to handle himself better this time around, especially with his teammates at his side for support. So after a slight hesitation, he nods in agreement.

A minute later, he frowns at the wheelchair Casey brings over and looks up at the man with a frustrated glance. Casey stares back, unmoved.

"Doc's orders."

* * *

Rick stares at the door.

Suddenly he's not so sure about this.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," whispers Billy's voice.

Rick disagrees, but he nods his head anyway. Casey swings the door open and Michael pushes him over to the only occupied bed.

"See, that wasn't so bad, now was it?" But the Billy speaking next to him is fading away, replaced by the image of his fallen teammate in the hospital bed in front of him.

All he can do is stare at Billy's prone form, taking in the pale, lax features, normally filled with life and spirit.

After a few minutes, the silence is almost unbearable without his teammate's chatter to fill the void. Once again, the guilt threatens to overwhelm him, but Michael's voice is pulling him back.

"Casey's going back to the hotel and I'm going to hit the mess." He makes sure he has Rick's attention before continuing. "If you start feeling worse, or if Billy wakes up, hit the call button on his bed, then call me." He places Rick's cell on the bedside table. "I'll just be a few floors away."

Rick nods absently in the wake of the instructions and then turns his attention back to the man in the bed.

Michael looks like he wants to say something else, but Casey shakes his head, so he just sighs to himself instead. He heads out the door, Casey a step behind him.

Rick is left alone with his thoughts and an unresponsive Billy.

The reality of seeing his injured friend triggers memories of the botched mission that Rick couldn't remember before. Michael and Casey had filled him in on what happened when he woke up the first time, but now it's coming back to him in shattered pieces.

They were in France, setting up a sting operation to put Pierre Rousseau, a notorious French arms dealer with ties to the Middle East, behind bars.

Everything had gone smoothly up until the point when their asset flipped and sold them out. After that, things had gone downhill pretty quickly.

The back room at the café.

Four men holding Rick and Casey.

Michael and Billy at gunpoint.

Rick gasps awake, having drifted off into a fitful sleep in the wake of the memories. His head is pounding again and exhaustion is weighing down his eyelids.

But none of those things matter, because blue eyes are staring at him from the bed, aware and amused.

"I would've woken you, mate, but you look like you need the rest," says Billy in a harsh voice.

At first, all Rick can do is stare, momentarily speechless. Then his brain kicks in and he can't stop the joyful exclamation. "Billy! You're awake!"

The older man gives a small grin at the enthusiasm. "Aye, it appears that way," Billy agrees with the same grating voice. This time Rick gets him some ice chips before pressing the call button, forgetting in his excitement the phone on the bedside table.

The doctor, a middle-aged man with kind eyes, steps in and looks over his patient. After a few minutes of checking various instruments, he declares Billy to be out of the critical status and on his way to recovery. He pulls Rick aside and tells him that he can stay with Billy as long as the patient doesn't become too excited, then leaves to do his rounds.

Moving back over to Billy's bedside, Rick finds the Scot watching him warily.

"So what happened, exactly?"

This is the moment Rick's been dreading. The guilt has been tearing him apart. He asks cautiously, "What do you remember?"

Billy eyes him approvingly. "A question for a question, and rightly so. Alright, then." There's a pause as Billy gathers his thoughts. "I remember the mission going utterly sideways and Rousseau being slightly pissed off when he discovered our true intentions. Oddly, I also remember thinking that getting shot in the head isn't such a bad way to go in our business, when you consider all the rather gruesome ways…" He stops short when he notices the appalled look on Rick's face.

"Right, unimportant." Then Billy's face, even through the exhaustion, lights up with a true smile. "Most clearly, I remember your truly spectacular flying tackle to take down an extremely dangerous arms dealer." Then he frowns. "After that, everything's a bit foggy I'm afraid."

Rick finds he can't look at Billy, so he looks at the floor instead. "You were shot in the chest. When I tackled Rousseau, he pulled the trigger." He almost can't bear to go on, but Billy deserves to know. "The bullet hit your rib and cracked it. You hit the floor before Michael could catch you. The impact caused the broken rib to puncture your lung."

There's a moment of silence that seems like years to Rick. Then Billy says nonchalantly, "Well, it seems like I missed quite the ordeal."

Rick is floored. "But it's my fault! You were shot because I screwed up! If I had just…"

"No." Billy is serious now, all traces of amusement gone. "'What ifs' are a treacherous path in our line of work, Martinez. Good spies have gone down that road and it changes them to the point where they can't make the necessary decisions that come with the job." He gives Rick a stern look. "So I'd best not be hearing anymore of that from you."

Rick nods his head meekly, a sense of déjà vu coming over him.

"As for this being your fault, that's complete rubbish." Now the Scot is smiling again. "In fact, and I'm sure the others agree, if you hadn't jumped to the rescue when you did, Michael and I would have bullets in our heads and you and Casey would not have been far behind." Here he gives Rick a meaningful glance. "You didn't hurt me, Rick. You saved me. And for that I am eternally grateful."

It's such a reversal from what Rick was expecting that he can't say anything, and Billy seems to be okay with that, content to let his words sink in.

For the next few minutes there's a comfortable silence. Rick can see that the conversation has taken up almost all of the other man's energy.

"So what happened to you?" Billy lethargically asks as he fights to keep his eyes open.

"What do you mean?"

Billy quirks an eyebrow. "You've got a lovely white bandage wrapped around your noggin, lad, and a row of stitches across your forehead. I don't remember much, but I'm fairly certain those weren't there the last time I saw you."

"Severe concussion," reports a voice from the doorway. It's Michael, and he's giving Rick a look that clearly says '_you were supposed to call me_', but it's tempered with understanding.

Michael turns his eyes back to Billy, relief written across his face as he moves up to the bedside. "He cracked his head on the concrete floor when he tackled Rousseau. They almost had to operate. As it was, he slept for three days and when he woke up, he was barely coherent." Now Michael's giving Rick an evaluating once-over. "And I think it's time he got some more rest."

Rick frowns a little petulantly but Billy intercedes before he can say anything. "I think that's just the ticket for both of us."

Rick wants to fight it, but the pain in his head is announcing itself and Billy is almost asleep. He looks at Michael, pleading with his eyes. "I want to stay with him. It would be too much of a hassle to get me back to the hotel anyway."

He can see Michael weighing the pros and cons, and Rick knows the moment he's won.

"Alright, I'll notify the nurses, but," and here he points a finger at the younger man for emphasis, "if something happens, you call me right away. I'll only let it slide once."

It's good enough for Rick.

Michael helps him get settled and checks the room to make sure they have everything they need. He whispers something to Billy and tousles the man's spiky hair before heading out the door.

It's quiet.

Rick feels a newfound sense of peace steal through him. Even though he's just barely awake, he knows he needs to say one last thing before sleep claims him.

"Thanks, Billy."

A few seconds of silence, then, "No, Martinez. Thank _you_."

Then they're both asleep, with a new dawn coming.

* * *

_Ha! Even Michael has to submit to Rick's puppy eyes. And raise your hands if you think having hallucination!Billy as your conscience would be awesome. I know I do!_

_This was also sort of a test for myself to see if I could write a concussed person's point of view. So let me know how that turned out._


End file.
